


Come and Get Your Love

by 000char000, Loftec



Series: If you ever change your mind [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 7x11 rewrite, Day 4: Together/Married/Happy Ending/Domestic, Future Fic, GW2017A, M/M, Mexico
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/000char000/pseuds/000char000, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loftec/pseuds/Loftec
Summary: Inspired by my wonderful friendivegotitbad, and her beautiful art, this is the second part of my little 7x11 rewrite excursion.A themedspotify playlist, if you wish.For Gallavich Week day 4: Together/ Married/ Happy Ending/ Domestic. Says it all.





	Come and Get Your Love

 

 

 

 

 

Ian steps out of the shower cubicle, wrapping the already damp towel around his hips and tucking in the end so it’ll stay in place. He runs his fingers through his hair and feels the water drip down the back of his neck and along his spine, doing very little to cool down the severely burnt patch of skin constantly exposed to the sun, just above the collar of his uniform. He’d kept the shower as cold as he could handle, but he’s already feeling the sweat returning as he steps out into the narrow and cramped dressing room, the air heavy with steam and body heat in addition to the ruthless humidity outside. The room is empty of people, he’s usually the only one insisting on a shower after every shift and easily falls behind the others because of it.

He gets dressed quickly, pulling on his torn old jeans and a fresh, loose tank, before hanging up his uniform in his assigned locker and shouldering his heavy book bag.

Steph doesn’t look up from her papers when he walks past her office.

”See you Monday,” she calls out anyway, holding up a hand in a curt wave.

”Hasta luego, jefe,” he shoots back, grinning at the way it gets her to shake her head, eyes still on whatever she’s reading. He leaves her to it and picks up his step when he spots some of his colleagues filing out through the door, catching up just before it has time to swing shut behind them.

”You’re joining us tonight, Gallagher?” Len grins at him as they step out into the stark sunlight flooding the cracked concrete parking lot.

”Where you off to?” Ian asks, glancing over at Bea and Anna when the latter says something a little too fast for him to catch and they both laugh.

”Don’t even try, Len,” Bea snorts, her accent broad and wonderful as she usually is the one to take pity on Ian’s constant confusion by casually translating things he doesn’t understand, ”Rojo’s got better things to do, right?”

”Well,” Ian says and he would argue, but he’s already distracted by the sight of the dusty blue pickup truck parked across the street, pulled over to the side to hide in the shadow of a large banyan tree. There’s someone leaning against it, features muddled by the shade but his bared, pale shoulders shining and his farmer’s tan visible even from this distance. He doesn’t move as Ian watches him, squinting against the sharp sun and treasuring the jittery warmth pooling inside him at the sight. Never taking it for granted again, this unwavering pull, this unspoken sense of belonging.

The man smiles, quick and pleased and wide enough to show through the shadowy haze. Yeah, Ian’s got better things to do, that’s for goddamned sure.

He blinks and tears his eyes off the obscured figure when his colleagues laugh again and Anna teases him with what he’s sure is another couple of quick jabs at his expense. He catches more of it this time; ’amor’ is easy enough, but the rest is perhaps better left lost in translation.

”You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her when he thinks he can see a blush rise under her sun-kissed cheeks. Ian might not yet be able to keep any kinda fluent conversation going, but sometimes his colleagues seem to forget that his general understanding has gotten significantly better since he started working at the dispatch station. Bea cackles gleefully and Len winces in second hand embarrassment.

”What kinda courses are you taking if you need help with everyday conversation but understand _that?_ ” he huffs, clearly more concerned for the state of the education system than Anna’s arguable modesty. 

”Immersión lingüística,” Ian states, holding up a finger to emphasize his terrible pronunciation as he starts backing away, ”the TA likes to talk about his conquests over lunch.”

”You need to introduce us one of these days, Rojo,” Bea abruptly changes the subject, one hand up to shade her eyes like a visor as she looks over Ian’s shoulder at the dark shape of the pickup truck usually waiting for him after shifts, ”get him to come out for drinks, the whole shebang.”

”Can’t promise anything,” Ian shrugs, hitching up the backpack when it slips down his shoulder with the movement.

”He not good with people or something?” Bea asks, still shamelessly staring at Ian’s mystery man.

”No, he’s great,” Ian chuckles, ”just like him all to myself.”

Len and Anna laugh as Bea drops her hand. Ian quickly turns around and jogs a couple of steps to get away from them before he’s roped into something he’s not willing to commit to, not with the promise of home waiting for him just across the street. Bea calls out after him, and he’s pretty sure he might be agreeing to some type dinner next week when he waves at her over his shoulder and the avalanche of words stop with a happy ’hasta el lunes’.

He checks the street for traffic before crossing it and moving into the banyan tree’s soothing shadow. Mickey doesn’t move as he watches him, but he takes the cigarette from his lips and he smiles, smoke billowing out his nose and through his teeth and almost obscuring his eyes for a second, crinkled and stuck to Ian as he moves closer.

”Hey,” he says when Ian is within earshot, the tip of his tongue absently worrying at his bottom lip as he holds out the butt of the cigarette for Ian to take.

Ian stops just close enough to reach out and take it from him, fingers brushing for a sec before he puts the cigarette to his lips and pulls in a lungful of smoke, feeling the soothing effect of Mickey’s heavy gaze on him even more than the nicotine rushing through him. 

Mickey looks at him with that little sideways smile he first fell in love with, years and years ago now.

”Hey,” Ian breathes out, the smoke caressing Mickey’s face as he’s pushing off the car and steps closer, pressing a soft, easy kiss to his lips.

Ian only has time to close his eyes, and then Mickey’s warm breath and lips and skin is gone again, and he can hear the distant sound of his colleagues catcalling them from across the street. Mickey moves around him and Ian turns and laughs when he sees him casually throw their gleeful spectators the finger, before putting on his shades and making his way over to the driver’s seat.

”Ready?” he asks and grins at Ian across the roof of the truck, eyebrows sticking up over his dark shades when Ian nods and goes for the passenger door.

”Let’s go,” Ian hums and gets in, clicking on his seatbelt before rifling through the glove compartment for his own sunglasses, as Mickey starts the engine and pulls out onto the street, the back wheels kicking up a cloud of dust from the dry gravel behind them.

”What was all that about, back there?” Mickey glances at him before turning his focus back on the street.

He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other ready to shift gear, and his hair and the collar of his shirt dance in the breeze from their open windows. The shirt is open and he has rolled up the short sleeves, he likes to put it on on top of his usual tanks when he gets off the beach and drives to the city, claiming it makes him look respectable. The shirt was a gift from Ian last summer and Mickey wears it with gusto. Ian is glad, he looks like a dream in it. A sun all year round, sandals and tequila from here on out kinda dream. A dream of the beach, of _them_.

”Hm?” Ian snaps his eyes up to see Mickey looking at him again, eyebrows raised as he’s still waiting on an answer. ”Oh, yeah. Nothing, Bea and the guys wanna meet you, ’s all.”

”That right?” Mickey hums, cheeks moving with a pleased smirk. ”Can’t shut up about me at work, huh?”

”Pretty much,” Ian says and turns to look out the open window, at the houses rushing past.

The opposite is probably more accurate, he rarely talks about Mickey at all when he’s at work and Mickey knows it. To anyone else it might’ve seemed like Ian didn’t care, but Mickey knows him. School and work is important to him, but home is his whole life and he keeps it close to his heart, where it can’t get hurt again. He’s never been big on talking about his personal shit, anyway, keeping most of his thoughts and feelings to himself. Well, to himself and _Mickey_ , now. He’s been working really hard on letting him in completely, this time, no holds barred.

He feels Mickey’s hand on his knee, squeezing gently before moving down to rest on his thigh. Ian turns back to look at him, raking his eyes over the side of his face; tracing the angle of his nose, the slope and bow of his lips, the light scruff trailing his jaw and the telling lines slowly etching themselves to the corner of his eye.

Mickey doesn’t ask if he’s okay, but his lips twitch when Ian covers his hand with his own, folding his fingers around it and blindly lacing them together.

”Siento bien,” Ian tells him, smiling when Mickey grins and shakes his head, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel as he keeps his eyes on the road. ”Long day, so fucking ready for the weekend.”

Mickey hums in agreement, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he digs his teeth into it. It’s almost enough to stir something deep inside Ian’s body and he imagines it creaking with effort to react, waking up after a long winter.

”Any business today?” he asks, not looking to do anything about the slow spring rolling through him, except silently revel in the fact that it’s there; that he can feel it coming.

”Decent,” Mickey shrugs, his thumb absently drawing circles on the side of Ian’s hand, ”too fucking hot, though. You done okay in that fuckin’ bunker all day?”

”Yeah, got the AC working before my shift, thankfully,” Ian huffs out a laugh when Mickey groans, ”college was worse, they tried to get a breeze going with all the windows open, but I still almost fell asleep like five times.”

”Might be the meds,” Mickey mumbles, more like he’s making a mental note than telling Ian something he already knows. ”You’re just gettin’ back into it, man, and school’s always gonna be a fuckin’ snooze-fest anyway, don’t worry about it.”

Ian hadn’t worried about it, there’s a reason why siesta is a thing after all; no one wants to cram Spanish transitive verbs in the middle of the day when it’s ninety plus degrees out and the wind’s fucked off to leave a blanket of humidity weighing down the whole coast. But he knows Mickey worries about it, all the fucking time to some degree, and Ian’s just had to learn how to deal with that. It’s not a malicious thing, after all, it’s a loving, caring thing and something Mickey has to do in order to feel in control when shit start slipping through their fingers.

And when Mickey says ’don’t worry about it’, Ian knows now that he says it more to himself than he’s actually trying to tell Ian how to feel or what to do. Hearing it used to piss him off, but these days all it does is remind him of how Mickey has his own struggle to get through, choosing to spend his life with Ian on top of his own deep set issues and scars.

Ian blinks and stops ogling his man for a sec, squeezing his hand again as he sits back and watches the landscape change outside; the houses slowly spreading out before opening up to rolling hills, the sun low and sharp without the buildings and trees shielding them in the city. Mickey has to let go of him so he can reach up and flip down the sun visor, but then his hand is right back on Ian’s leg, fingertips trailing along the inside seam of his jeans as he gently rubs his hand up and down his thigh a couple of times, before once more letting it rest in that natural spot right below his knee, elbow nestled in the crook of his hip.

And Ian can’t help it; he’s staring at him again, beautiful and _there_ and lit up in the warm yellows of a setting sun. Ian takes the bus to town in the mornings and sometimes home again, as well. But on some days, good days, it works out so that Mickey can pick him up and drive him home. They’ve used this time together to talk, laugh, argue, and sit in all kinds of silences, comfortable and pressing and everything in between, and Ian treasures every single minute of it. Good and bad, it’s all immeasurably preferable to the years they’ve spent apart – when Ian ran away, when Mickey was locked away, when Ian had to leave him one last time.

Monica had died, and Ian had left his heart at the border so he could go home and get all his affairs in order, so he could fulfill his promise and follow Mickey to help him start their new life. He’d been so focused on doing everything right this time that it’d never even occurred to him that Mickey didn’t believe he’d actually ever come. Only truly realizing the scope of the damage he’d done when he finally stepped off the buss at the world’s end after eighteen hours of travel, bags heavy as he turned around and saw Mickey for the first time in three hundred and ninety-two days, and Mickey still looked at him like he expected him to disappear into thin air at any given moment.

”Hey,” Ian says and feels his lips quirk up in a helpless smile when he sees Mickey’s eyes move behind the dark shades, glancing at him, ”turn in over there.”

He points at the almost invisible left turn coming up, diverting from the dusty country road to a narrow dirt path leading up the hill bulging up a mile off their normal route. Mickey’s eyebrows hitch up all the way above the frame of his glasses, but he doesn’t argue when he lets go of Ian’s leg again to shift down to second and grip the wheel with both hands, slowly turning the truck in through the wild-growing field.

They drive up to the top of the hill, where there’s a small group of tall palm trees and the first real view of the ocean this side of the city. Mickey parks the truck in the shade between two of the trees and pulls the hand break, turning his head to look at Ian and wait for him to make a move. Ian grins at him and opens his door, unbuckling the seatbelt before stepping out and moving around the softly ticking hood of the car, the engine slowly cooling down.

He can hear Mickey’s door opening and closing behind him but he doesn’t look as he walks out from under the palm trees’ shadow, to stand where he has an unencumbered view of the ocean and the elusive breeze finally finds him and pulls at his sweat-damp clothes and hair. Hooking his sunglasses into the neck of his tank and closing his eyes he takes a deep breath and listens to the distant rush of the sea washing over sandy shores, the wind rustling through the palm leaves above him, the wild weeds and grass climbing up the slight hill under his feet.

Smiling to himself, Ian slowly opens his eyes and squints out at the breathtaking landscape and the seemingly endless ocean, turquoise and blue blending into the haze of the horizon and the late afternoon sky, already blushing pink as the sun gets ready to set. Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he turns around to see Mickey sat on the hood of the truck, feet on the bumper and elbows on his knees, cigarette stuck to the corner of his mouth and eyes stuck on Ian.

”You remember this place?” Ian asks, raising his voice a little so Mickey can hear him before his feet instinctually start moving him back to the car, ever gravitating with Mickey as his center.

”’Course I do,” Mickey scoffs and scrunches up his nose at Ian’s apparently dumbass question, his sunglasses moving with the expression, ”fuck could I forget?”

Ian shrugs and stops with a couple of feet still left to go, smiling helplessly at his boyfriend – looking relaxed and annoyed and cool as fuck all at once. His tattoos are a little more faded now, and he lets his softness show more often, but he still looks so much like the young man Ian first fell in love with, shrouded in Chicago cold and poorly cast in his father’s mold.

”Picked me up on that piece-of-shit scooter,” he says, even though Mickey claims to remember, and only feels encouraged to go on when Mickey lets out a small sound of protest, ”had to hide my fucking bags in the bushes and borrow Mrs Velázquez’ car to pick ’em up in the morning.”

”Yeah, well,” Mickey complains, only barely hiding the pleased smile tugging at the side of his mouth, ”didn’t know you were bringin’ half of fuckin’ Chicago with ya, did I?”

Ian bends his head for a second, looks at his feet as he digs the toe of his shoe into the dry, black soil. They’ve never really talked about it but Ian didn’t have to be a genius to figure it out. Mickey hadn’t picked him up at the airport, or thought he’d need a bigger mode of transport for Ian’s bags, because he hadn’t truly believed in Ian when he said he was coming, and _staying_. Clinging to Mickey’s back as they drove his rusty old second-hand scooter through the mild August evening, Ian had pressed his tears into Mickey’s shoulder and silently promised to never make him doubt again. To let this be the first day of their new life, and a first step towards winning back Mickey’s trust.

”You drove up here,” he continues, looking up at Mickey and smiling when he sees him shake his head, fond and exasperated all at once, ”so I could see the ocean for the first time.”

”Pretty sure I just needed to take a piss,” Mickey disagrees, giving in to a quick grin when Ian tips his head back with a laugh, ”whatever, not like I had much else to show you, back then.”

”It was plenty,” Ian assures him and steps closer. Mickey clearly rolls his eyes behind the dark shades, but still spreads his legs when Ian steps in between his knees.

”Always was fuckin’ easy,” Mickey teases him, whatever uncertain annoyance Ian might have caused by bringing up the past replaced with a cocky grin as he hitches his sunglasses up on his head and plucks out the half-burnt cigarette from his lips to snub it out against the truck’s faded and worn paint.

”C’mere,” he says and Ian never could resist him, even when he arguably should have.

Mickey’s calloused hand on his cheek, Ian is pressing in closer until there is no space between them at all, Mickey’s knees falling wider apart as Ian slowly grinds up against him, snakes his arms around him, closes his eyes and kisses him with his lips and tongue and all the air he’s got in his lungs. Mickey smiles against him and makes a content noise at the back of his throat, fingers combing gently through the short hairs on the back of his neck as they move their lips together and Ian drops his jaw let him in, his tongue soft and wet and perfect.

Ian rolls his hips in a couple of lazy thrusts, and then a few more when Mickey lands an encouraging hand on his ass and groans into his mouth. He feels Mickey react instantly, growing harder every time Ian pushes his hips in between his thighs and purposefully grinds their dicks together. He feels himself stir, a deep and ever present want just rearing to go under layers of _can’t_ , blanketing his desires and weighing them down. He knows nothing is going to happen for him today, and it’s okay, but he’s still filled with the sudden need to feel that closeness, to taste Mickey and hear him, feel the weight and shape of his hard cock as he’s bringing it to eruption.

”Mh,” Mickey sighs into his mouth, angling his face the other way and gently tracing the side of his thumb along Ian’s cheek bone until his fingers can comb through his hair. Ian abandons his lips to leave a trail of wet kisses along his stubbled jaw, nosing in under his ear and smiling against his neck when Mickey hugs his strong arm around his head and shudders under his touch. One day Ian’s gonna make him come from kissing his neck alone, he’s pretty sure he could if he really tried.

”Fuck,” he mumbles into Mickey’s flushed skin, dropping his jaw to carefully dig his teeth into it, flattening his tongue over the light indentations left behind.

”What’s that?” Mickey asks, looking a little perturbed when it gets Ian to detach from his neck and lean back in his embrace.

”Smell good,” Ian tells him and smiles when Mickey huffs, but still looks kinda pleased, ”you’re so beautiful.”

”Fuck off,” Mickey laughs, leaning back a little to throw Ian a disbelieving glare, ”shut up.”

”Nope and nope,” Ian grins, letting his hands rest on Mickey’s hips and digging the tips of his fingers into the soft sides of his ass, just in case he gets it in his head to try and get away, ”always were, Mick, but now… I can’t get over it.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Mickey grouses, forehead creasing into a self-conscious scowl. But he doesn’t argue and he doesn’t move, so Ian pushes himself to go on and tell him some of the things he usually leaves unspoken.

”Sun looks good on you,” he says, ”happiness looks good on you.”

”You look good on me,” Mickey jokes and pokes out his tongue, grinning and biting down on it when Ian groans.

”Tryna be serious here,” he complains, sticking his chin out as Mickey sniggers and traces his fingers along it, letting his hand rest on his cheek.

”Yeah, I know,” he sighs, suddenly serious, eyes slowly moving all over his face like he’s memorizing every detail, again and again, ”and it’s fine, I know it’s not you alright?”

Ian frowns, no clue what Mickey means by that. Mickey winces when he meets his eyes again and seems to realize that he has to explain what he’s trying to say.

”It’s the new meds,” he starts, and if Ian wasn’t so confused he’d probably be annoyed by now, ”and it’s fine, I’m not fuckin’ offended by your sad dick or whatever, you don’t gotta try and compensate for that stuff, man, talking me up and shit."

”What?” Ian huffs, happy to feel both confusion and annoyance giving way to some kinda utterly fond amusement.

”Look, I already know you think I’m smokin’,” Mickey says, cocking an eyebrow as his lips twist into a smug smirk, ”especially in this shirt.”

”Well,” Ian glances down at the colorful flowers repeated in a large busy print over the black cotton, ”it’s a sexy fuckin’ shirt, whoever picked it out’s got great taste.”

”Sure does,” Mickey agrees and meets Ian’s eyes when he looks up again, ”but he don’t gotta prove shit to me, alright? I already know.”

”Good,” Ian shrugs, dropping his gaze to let it linger on the side of Mickey’s face, tracing down the lightly sunburnt skin to his lips, ”but I wasn’t tryna prove anything, just wanna be honest with you.”

He expects Mickey to immediately shut him down again, but he doesn’t.

”Yeah?” he says instead, allowing his uncertainty to show beneath his usual bravado.

”Always,” Ian hums and meets his eyes again, ”wanna tell you all about how I feel, Mick, spent too much time keeping that stuff to myself.”

”Think you’ve made yourself pretty clear.”

Ian grins, hunching closer and raising a challenging eyebrow at Mickey’s amused smirk.

”Yeah? You sure about that?” he asks, digging his fingers deeper into Mickey’s soft ass. ”You don’t wanna hear what else I’m thinkin’?”

”Depends,” Mickey starts, but whatever he was going to say is lost when Ian reconnects their lips, pushing in as close as he can and taking off right where they left it, Mickey bucking up against him.

Ian lets go of his ass and without breaking the kiss moves his hands to unbuckle Mickey’s belt and pull down his fly, swallowing Mickey’s soft moans as he puts a hand down his boxers and carefully pulls out his still hard dick, stroking it lightly between them as Mickey clutches on to him and drags him in closer, licks into him with more urgency.

He’s already close, Ian can tell, knows every single one of his sounds and the pace and stutter of his breath. So he lets go and holding on to Mickey’s strong thighs he sinks down to his knees and drags his lips along his dick, sticking out of his pants and swaying with the red hot arousal pumping through it when the light breeze hits the wet trail of Ian’s saliva.

”Christ, Ian,” Mickey mutters and he’s looking down at him with hooded eyes when Ian glances up at him, kissing back up the side of his cock, holding it to his cheek with a light hand as he nuzzles his face into his open jeans, Mickey’s dark pubes warm and a little damp against his nose.

They’re on top of a hill at the end of the world, looking out over paradise. But all Ian can see is the perfect angle of Mickey’s chin as he tips his head back and swallows in anticipation, all he can hear is his own heartbeat and all he can smell is home, as he takes Mickey in his mouth and fills himself up with his cock, working it all the way down his throat once before pulling back to lick and suck, kiss and bob and breathe him in until he’s coming in hot spurts, hips shaking and knees bending.

Mickey grins and pulls him back into a deep kiss when Ian gets on his feet, and Ian tucks him back into his pants as they lazily make out until Mickey’s lips are pink and raw and Ian’s feel very much the same.

”Back in the car, bitch,” Mickey laughs when Ian’s pressing up against him in an attempt to keep him from getting down, ”gonna be late if you keep distracting me like this.”

”Oh yeah, I’m distracting you,” Ian scoffs and steps back, holding out a hand to help Mickey down. One that Mickey impatiently waves off, but still grabs for a split second as he shoves himself off the hood of the truck.

”Yeah, _you_ , I’m not the one offering BJs in the wild,” he argues as they split up to get in the car, ”like I’m gonna turn that shit down.”

”And _I’m_ not the one springing a boner from two seconds of making out,” Ian counters, holding on to the open door to stop and smirk at Mickey over the roof of the car.

”Well,” Mickey shrugs, flashing Ian a shit-eating grin as he flips down his shades and pulls his own door open to get in, ”Segal knows what he wants.”

”Stop tryna get me callin’ your fucking dick ’Segal’, Mick,” Ian groans, climbing into his seat and scowling at Mickey’s pleased smirk, ”it’s never gonna fucking happen.”

”Too bad,” Mickey hums and clicks his tongue, starting the engine and doing an easy two point turn to drive back down the narrow path, ”guess I gotta find someone else more willing to respect my dick by callin’ him by his god-given name.”

”Uh-huh,” Ian huffs and reaches for the crappy old radio to turn it on and toggle the nob through the static in search for any of the three stations with decent enough reception outside the city, ”you wanna make new friends I’m not gonna stop you, or your dick.”

”Nah,” Mickey pretends to sigh, ”guess you’re alright.”

”Ah!” Ian finally finds something resembling music, the seatbelt cutting into his shoulder when he leans forward to carefully twist the nob around and locate the best frequency.

”Shit taste in music, though,” Mickey mutters, but doesn’t try to change the station when Ian finally gets the song to play almost entirely static free, triumphantly sitting back and stretching out his arm over the back of Mickey’s seat.

”Come on, Grumpy,” he says, smiling at the side of Mickey’s scowling face, ”it’s a classic!”

”Don’t mean it’s any good,” Mickey insists, but his fingers are already drumming lightly over the steering wheel, caught up in the catchy rhythm.

”Hell,” Ian hums, grinning wider when Mickey groans, ”nothin the matter with your head, baby.”

”Ain’t doing some fucking singalong right now,” Mickey warns him, but his lips are twitching with a suppressed smile.

”Hell with it, baby,” Ian sings, moving his arm so he can put his hand on Mickey’s neck, gently scratching his short nails through his newly trimmed hair, ”’cause you're fine and you're mine and your lips so divine.”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head, but by the second time the chorus comes around he’s bellowing out the repeated lyrics along with Ian and the radio, smile wide and free when Ian taps out a spontaneous drum solo on the car’s panelling before the last verse.

_ If you want some, take some, get it together baby. _

_ Come and get you love, come and get your love. _

The radio is playing Los Apson by the time Mickey pulls in on an almost empty gravel lot and parks. Ian gets out and walks around the truck towards the chickenwire gate closing up a tall, untrimmed hedge, completely hiding the building behind it.

”Ey, Gallagher,” Mickey calls out behind him, making him stop and turn to look back at him, still sitting in the car, ”make it quick, I’m hungry as fuck.”

Ian salutes him, grinning when Mickey returns the gesture with his middle finger, and picks up his step as he moves through the gate and across the lawn on the other side. The bushes and trees are wild and opulent with colorful flowers, and nestled in the middle of it all there’s a large square one-story house with one corner sunk in to make way for a spacious front porch. The door has been left wide open and Ian can hear laughter from inside as he walks closer.

”Dad!”

Pausing with one foot on the porch, Ian takes a couple of steps back and looks around to see where the sound is coming from, spotting Yevgeny just in time to catch him and pick him up in a big hug.

”Whoa buddy, what’s up?” he says and gives his son a loud kiss on the cheek before the kid has time to squirm out of his arms. ”Good day?”

”Yep,” Yevgeny is already back on the ground and pulling on Ian’s hand to come with him, ”Dad, you have to come look!”

”Okay,” Ian huffs and throws a quick glance over his shoulder as he lets Yevgeny tow him around to the back of the house, opening up to a slightly larger lawn with just enough space for a small, makeshift soccer field and a sandbox with an old-fashioned jungle gym.

”I’ve been building it all day,” Yevgeny states proudly, letting go of Ian to run over to the sandbox where another boy is busy fixing the finer details on a widespread network of wonky sandcastles, ”well, Dani helped.”

Daniel says something to Yevgeny, but with the combination of his provincial dialect and the universal difficulty of understanding other people’s four-year-olds, Ian still has problems catching everything he says. Yevgeny is an absolute wonder, though, picking up the local tongue like it’s nothing and effortlessly adding another language to the two he already had.

”It’s awesome, Yev,” Ian says, taking in the messy structure and feeling something swell inside his chest at the sight of his son playing with his friend, chatting away, ”we gotta go though.”

”Five more minutes,” the adorable little shit tries to barter.

”Tell you what, I’ma head inside and grab your stuff,” Ian decides to compromise, ”and then we leave when I get back, okay? Pops said he was gettin’ hungry.”

Ian doesn’t wait for confirmation before he turns and steps through the daycare’s open backdoor, smiling when he hears a very serious Yevgeny tell his best friend that he ’gotta do it, ’cause Pops gets really grumpy when he’s hungry’.

The daycare’s matron is a hefty woman in her fifties who knows how to speak really good English, but hasn’t spoken one word of it to Ian since the first day they initially came in to see about getting Yevgeny a spot. She is an educator after all, patting him kindly on the cheek and telling him ’la práctica hace al maestro’ whenever he stumbles or makes a mistake. She quickly sums up Yevgeny’s day as he collects the kid’s things, and then they walk outside together.

”Ready, Yevy?” Ian asks, smiling when Yevgeny immediately gets up to brush off his sandy knees and run over to him, taking him by the hand. ”Say adiós to Dani.”

”Bye Dani,” Yevgeny says, twisting around to wave at his friend with his free hand, ”see you tomorrow.”

”Hasta mañana,” Daniel calls out after them as they walk away.

”You two got plans or something?” Ian jokes, letting go of Yevgeny’s hand to open the gate.

”Yes,” Yevgeny answers with all the straight faced sincerity of a five-year-old, ”we’re going to look for diamantes on the beach.”

”Diamonds?” Ian secures the gate behind them and holds out his hand again, swinging it back and forth when Yevgeny takes it and they walk at the kid’s leisured pace across the parking lot. ”Why do you need diamonds?”

”For treasure, for when we’re pirates,” Yevgeny explains, hanging off Ian’s hand for a second as he stops and bends over to pick up an interesting rock amongst the thousands of uninteresting rocks making up the gravel lot, ”there’s a bunch of them on the beach, Dani says, white and green and shiny brown.”

”Amber,” Ian hums and smiles when he sees Mickey looking over at them from the car, ”you know it’s only the soft ones with no edges that are worth something, right?”

”Yeah,” Yevgeny sighs, wistfully, like this is some kinda common knowledge and not just something Ian’s making up on the fly in an attempt to keep the kids from cutting their fingers open on sharp glass.

”Good,” Ian says and leans over to pick him up by the armpits, ”say hello to Grumpy.”

”Hello Pops,” Yevgeny grins and holds out his hands to reach for Mickey, giggling when his dads help him climb in through the truck’s open window and into Mickey’s arms, hugging him and then most likely tickling him, judging by the happy sound of their son’s squealing as Ian walks around the car to get in on the other side.

”Pops, no!” Yevgeny laughs, practically upside-down when Ian climbs in next to them, and Mickey immediately stops.

”Missed ya, little man,” he says, before pressing a quick kiss to Yevgeny’s left knee, which just happens to be the part closest in the moment, ”scoot over so we can get outta here.”

Yevgeny turns around and crawls over Mickey’s legs to settle in on Ian’s lap, lifting his arms as Ian makes sure the seatbelt loops around them both. The daycare isn’t far from home, but driving through the small seaside village the streets become increasingly winding and narrow, stone walls and houses and wild shrubbery lining them on both sides making it only just possible to drive through with the pickup truck. Mickey is long since used to it, one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick as he slowly and securely navigates through every impossible-looking slope and passage.

Yevgeny hangs out the window, knees digging into Ian’s thigh and his belt caught in his secure grip, as he reaches out to touch the trees and stones moving past, hands brushing through the green leaves and carefully dragging along uneven walls, pointing out the biggest, brightest flowers just in case Ian’s watchful eye has somehow managed to miss them.

”Papo!” he exclaims when Mickey stops for a sec to let someone through, holding up a hand in greeting as their neighbor from down the street waves and drives past on her scooter. Ian tightens his grip on him when Yevgeny reaches out for a big, pink flower and sticks his whole face into it, breathing it in.

”Heads up,” Mickey absently warns Ian that the coast is clear, and Ian carefully pulls most of their fearless kid back into the truck before they start moving again, the air filled with the sweet scent of the blooming hibiscus.

At the very end of the last street, Mickey turns in and parks next to a modest house, half hidden by the palm trees and all the junk in the yard, old furniture and tools and building material leaning against every foot of bare wall. Ian lifts Yevgeny out first and doesn’t try to stop him when he takes off, running around the house and disappearing through the almost overgrown gap in the only barely trimmed hedges.

Mickey and Ian follow him at a more leisured pace, Ian smiling gently when Mickey absently drags his fingertips over the covered shape of his old bike, unused since it finally broke down completely last month. Eventually finding his way to this corner of the world, Mickey’d spent Ian’s money on a crappy house and an even crappier scooter, and then spent the first year not doing a whole lot more than barely surviving.

They’d kept in touch the whole time, through letters and phone calls, but Mickey’d been reserved and negative whenever Ian’d asked about their new home, acting as though Ian was being an idiot for wanting to come live with him in his crooked and leaking piece of shit house. But then he’d tell him about the beach being exactly like he’d imagined it, and how the neighbors were friendly and didn’t mind giving him largely incomprehensible and wildly gesticulated advice on how to fix the place up, pushing tools and leftover paint on him whenever they got the chance, and Ian knew Mickey still wanted him there in every deflection and negative comment trying to push him away.

They follow their son through the hedge and coming out on the other side is like walking through that fucked up closet in that toffee-nosed book Yevgeny wants them to read for him every other night. The narrow streets and shielding, opulent greenery fall away, and the world suddenly opens up to the vast shock of sea and sky, blue and endless and only a skip and jump from their backdoor.

Ian puts his arm over Mickey’s shoulders and they walk along the shoreline, eyes on Yevgeny as he runs up ahead, until they reach the center of their fairly closed off little bay and the small cluster of shops and restaurants that have naturally gathered there. Yevgeny bounds up the steps to one of the restaurants and has disappeared inside by the time Mickey and Ian have caught up. Ian drops his arm off Mickey and lets him follow their kid on his own, as he moves over to the small cluster of tables and chairs crammed in on the porch, selecting the one in the far corner and sitting down.

”-tell her to sit the fuck down and accept her fuckin’ place in life,” Ian smiles when he hears Mickey’s annoyed voice from inside, ”from what you’ve been tellin’ me don’t seem like she’s got some bright future in fucking nano robotics or whatever, if she ever got off her ass to try on a vocation more advanced than si, señor, want some fucking pickles with that?”

He comes back out carrying a large pot, a towel shielding his hands from the hot metal and the steam coming out from under the ill-fitting lid.

”She is nice girl,” Svetlana insists, voice stern but Ian can see her amused smirk when she steps out after her ranting ex-husband, ”she only wants to be heard, I know how it is.”

”Whatever,” Mickey shrugs, weaving through the furniture to get to Ian and set down the food on their table, ”suit yourself, comrade, you’re the fucking manager, guess you can pull all the socialist crap you want in your own house.”

”Assistant manager,” Svetlana corrects him, coming up next to Ian and placing a stack of three plates in front of him as she bends down to press a kiss to his cheek, ”for now.”

”Smells great,” Ian tells her, ”trouble in the ranks?”

Svetlana rolls her eyes. ”Maria needs to complain about something from time to time, make her feel more in control. I’m handling it, in _my_ way.”

”Yeah, probably best,” Ian agrees, throwing Mickey a stern look he very pointedly ignores, busy putting out the plates and dishing out the chili, ”you’re not joining us?”

”I will eat at home,” Svetlana sighs, ”my way is the best way, but also the slow way. We are in middle of intense negotiations about breaks for smoking and who’s late in mornings and other very important bullshit. ”

”Hop fucking to it, then,” Mickey mutters and throws her a pointed glare as he plates his own food last and sits down.

Svetlana smirks and blows him a loud kiss, before she calls out for Yevgeny to come out and eat with his fathers as she disappears back inside the restaurant.

Ian hadn’t told Mickey about all of his plans, or the exact reason for why it was taking him so long to get his shit together and make the move across the border. But it took time to convince Svetlana of it being the best solution for all of them; Mickey and Ian getting their kid back, and Svetlana getting her security and autonomy back by living with them. She didn’t want to admit it, but Ian could tell that even she knew she’d messed up bad with Kev and Vee in her ruthless efforts to carve out a piece of the world for herself and her child. It took time to convince her, and it took time to make sure she could safely travel without any fear of being apprehended and having Yevgeny taken away from her.

Mickey had been pissed with him for a whole week when he finally told him. Still on shaky grounds, they’d lived together and worked on the house for a couple of months when Ian found out that Svetlana had booked all the tickets and would be arriving in a few weeks time, disrupting their already fragile routine.

It took time, but Ian knew Mickey was scared; of being a bad father and of getting too many good things only to lose them, of getting hurt again. So he let him be pissed, and he let him take his time, and he stood by his side when they waited in the small local airport, watching the propeller aircraft touch down through the large windows, searching all the faces of the people filing out through the gate.

It took time, but they’ve got it good now. Svetlana and Mickey get along alright, and Yevgeny’s found his footing faster than they ever imagined, with a new country and language and friends, and two dads he didn’t really know he had.

Yevgeny laughs at something silly Mickey’s telling him, and Mickey’s blue eyes shine when he glances over at Ian and grins wide when he sees him smiling. Ian lets them talk on their own, Yevgeny’s growing into a loudmouthed little clone of his dad with each day passing and it’s a constant joy for Ian just to watch them interact. He lets the sound of their voices wash over him with the low rumble of the ocean breaking against the shore and the evening birds singing their songs, the distant echo of the bar further down the beach playing the same CD of traditional Mexican music over and over, for the benefit of the moderate amount of tourists finding their way to their secluded bay each summer.

Letting out a deeply content sigh, Ian looks out over the sea, feeling himself getting lost in the pinks and purples left over from the sun hiding behind the horizon and only barely lighting up the sky as it shifts into dark blue, a couple of stars already winking down at them. It’s almost completely dark when Mickey’s warm hand on his knee breaks him out of his revelry, and he turns back to smile at Yevgeny telling them all about the complex infrastructure of his and Daniel’s sand-city.

The night sky is crowded with stars when Yevgeny is falling asleep at the table and Svetlana reappears to coax him into waking up enough to walk back home. The beach is dotted with little yellow lights marking the houses scattered along the bay, and the clear crescent moon makes the sandy beach and Mickey’s skin shine white in the dark as they slowly make their way home.

Yevgeny demands to be carried after a while, even though they’re right outside their backyard, so Svetlana picks him up and carries him the rest of the way, the bushes rustling as she disappears through them. Ian is just about to follow her when he feels Mickey’s hand on his wrist, tugging at him lightly and urging him to step back and turn to face him.

Mickey doesn’t say anything, instead he pulls Ian closer and wraps his arms around him, lets Ian hunch his shoulders and bury his face in his collar, put his arms around him and hold him. He melts into it; Mickey’s silent support and comfort that almost overwhelmed him once, but without which he wouldn’t know how to live, now. Can only hope he is giving as much as he’s taking.

And Mickey rubs his back and neck and kisses him gently on the side of his face as they stand together until their lungs and hearts fall into step with each other and they sway absently to the rhythm of the music still echoing across the bay. Ian thinks he vaguely recognizes the song as an old soul tune, translated and slightly garbled by distance. Mickey seems to know it better, as he hums it gently against his ear and whispers into his skin.

”Until I’m buried,” he says, ”buried in my grave.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should be thanking loads of people for this one, somehow? [Char](https://ivegotitbad.tumblr.com/), I mean. Look at her brilliant art! We've been so full of fluffy feels for weeks, working on this project, it's been absolutely fantastic and I'm so glad to be able to share it with all of you now.
> 
> [Matchst_ck](https://matchst-ck.tumblr.com/) and [Koganphrancis](http://koganphrancis.tumblr.com/), sorry for not explicitly saying that Mickey's sanding boats, but we all know that's what he's doing. ❤
> 
> The rest of yous; stay fab, you rock my world.
> 
> _____________________________________________  
> [Come and Get Your Love](https://youtu.be/nkr77jE5GFY) / [Si es que cambias](https://youtu.be/Dj-u0Pich-4) / / [Tumblr](http://loftec.tumblr.com/) / [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/loftec/playlist/7prASdDtP2jkkZMD6wYwrT)


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